


no matter how you sell it

by Anonymous



Series: bucky barnes, human disaster [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Embarrassment, First Person Bucky Barnes, First Person Steve Rogers, HYDRA Trash Party, M/M, Past Brock Rumlow/Bucky Barnes - Freeform, Present Tense, Rimming, Scat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-13 00:33:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7955170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>bucky needs special tricks to get an erection, and steve helps him out.</p><p>or:</p><p>that fic where bucky barnes eats steve rogers' shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	no matter how you sell it

**Author's Note:**

> fuck, okay. this is my first hydratrashmeme fill. this is my first published scat fic. i hope you like it.

We've tried everything. Fingers, toys, blowjobs, porn, dirty talk, and even varying degrees of pain. Electric shock, sounding, fisting, waterboarding. Nothing works.

Well. Almost nothing.

Steve sits back, letting my soft cock out of his mouth and looking at me kinda strange as I struggle to compile my words. What I'm about to say is disgusting, and the very concept makes me blush to bring up, but I desperately want to be able to get an erection again. I want to be physically passionate with Steve, more than anything, but that leaves me with one option.

"We've tried everything." Steve says dejectedly, looking at my flaccid cock as though his sadness might make it harden, but, predictably, there isn't even a twitch on it. Gritting my teeth, my metal hand fists in the sheets, and I admit, "There is a way. Only one way. HYDRA programmed it into me so I... So that I wouldn't get aroused on missions, looking at people."

Steve looks eager, and he lays a hand on my thigh. "What is it? Maybe we can try it." His smile is warm and safe, and I murmur, "It's shit." In response, Steve frowns, and he says, "It's not. Just because HYDRA pr-"

I cut him off, tone like a steel wall, and say, "It is literally shit. If you want me to get hard, I need to watch you take a dump."

That makes him fall silent, and he asks, more rhetorically that actually, "Oh, Bucky, what did they do to you?"

I turn my head away from him, sighing, and I remember it all in an instant.

There was a chair, there was my handler… and there were his eyes, all honeyed stone, and his boots, polished black.

Steve speaks, and I snap out of my memory in time to hear him say, "Give me a few days, Buck."

"Days for what?"

"I... Don't go to the bathroom as often. If you need me to go for you, you'll have to wait. I just... I went this morning." He says, blushing, and I nod, understanding his request and suppressing my pure amazement. He was going to do it? Steve was fucking dedicated to me, and though it was beyond disgusting to my mind, I could feel that long-absent arousal heat pooling in my core at the thought of watching him.

Licking my lips nervously, I mumble, “When you gotta go, can you just… tell me? And we can meet… Um, in the bathtub. We’ll have to wash up, after I get hard.” Steve accepts this without question, and then the topic is dropped.

I get Steve off with my hand, and we leave it at that for several days.  
-

When the urge to go comes, it really never lets up. First, it’s a feeling of heaviness. Then there’s always that sense that if I don’t hurry to a toilet, I’ll make a mess of myself. And then when I get to a restroom, and I actually go, I usually can’t just sit there and have some private time for too long, so I end up going a few times to different bathroom. I mean, I’m Captain America. I eat a lot, so I have large bowel movements.

It’s been three days since Bucky told me a little bit about what HYDRA did to him, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. I know full well I could have gone to the bathroom yesterday, but… I don’t know. I just didn’t.

We’re sitting together on the couch watching television when my gut rumbles, loudly, and I trade a look with Buck.

He gets out of his seat and makes for the bathroom immediately. I’m close behind, shutting the door, and we undress quickly. Soon, he’s in the tub, and he beckons for me to climb in over him. Thankfully, ours is large, and we’ll both fit the way he indicates: with me facing away from him, ass over his pale chest.

“Just… Go whenever.” Bucky breathes, hands coming up to spread my cheeks so he can get a good view. I remind myself that I’m doing this for him, and then, face hot as fire, I begin to relax and let this happen.  
-

I don’t think anything in my life has ever prepared me to watch the man I love most straddle my chest and have a crap on it. Like, sure, in my memories, there were a number of times that my handler laid a fat one on my face during my conditioning period, but this was Steve, slowly pushing out what had to be the thickest piece of shit I have ever laid eyes upon out of what I had been convinced was a tight little pucker.

Between my legs, I can feel the warmth of arousal building, and above me, Steve makes a gentle sound of exertion.

“Bucky,” Steve breathes, “I’m sorry. This happens sometimes, it… It gets stuck, and then…”

I remain silent for a bit while he tries to get around his embarrassment enough to speak, and my right hand comes up to trace warm fingertips around his hole. My memories recall doing this to everyone who I’d had to tolerate shitting on me, yes, but with Steve, it’s more… meaningful. Pressing gently around his stretched opening with massaging fingers, I try to help him work past the stuck portion, and sure enough, that helps that piece come out. I know there’s more, but as his hole clenches and a large chunk drops onto my chest, I feel my cock twitch, and I moan before cutting myself off. This is filthy, not erotic. This is not, I try to convince myself, the most sensual thing my brain has ever had to perceive. And I am failing in that endeavor.

I’m sure I’m red with shame, trying to battle with my HYDRA training vs my own standards, and that lasts until another, thick, delicious piece of shit lands on my sternum. Steve gives a moan of relief, and once again, his hole opens up. He’s given me two pieces now, and is going on a third. HYDRA-addled, my body and my cock are encouraging me to take some, to taste my boyfriend and best friend’s filth; it’s too perfect to go to waste. If I do it…

If I do it, I give in to every pent-up sexual urge I’ve had relating to shit in our time together. If I don’t…  
-

It takes me completely by surprise to feel Bucky’s tongue on my asshole, but by that time, I can’t stop or even pinch off the piece that’s working its way out of me and into his mouth.

And embarrassingly enough, when I hear him moan, when I feel him chewing, I can feel myself getting hard. I hear him swallow, panting, and he curses in Italian before leaning in again to have another piece. Again, Bucky chews and swallows, and the moment I can stop, I do, clenching up to stop myself from giving him more shit. Gritting my teeth, I ask, “Bucky, is that enough?”

“Not anymore,” he responds, tone heavy with lust. “And I know you’re as hard as me. Do you really want to stop?”

Of course he’d notice my cock. I curse quietly, and then he shifts his hands on my ass to spread my cheeks better. “Your tight little hole begs to differ… It looks so cute, you know, all stretched out around your shit.”

As if on cue, I feel another piece coming, and I give up. I can’t stop this (I don’t want to stop this), and even though the toilet is right there, I let myself push again. As Bucky eats my shit, I ask him, voice a little shaky, “How’s it taste?” I’m genuinely curious; he’s eating it with such pleasure that one would think he was having the most fantastic meal in the world.

He swallows, and says, sass intact, “Steve, it tastes like shit. I mean, it’s unique to you, but… shit’s shit, no matter how you sell it. I love yours, though I never thought a guy like me would eat Captain America’s shit.”

I stammer out a laugh, and then he’s got his tongue in my ass and I’m moaning, fists gripping his thighs just above the knee as he rims my hole with all the desperation of a starving man.  
-

I feel like a fucking disaster of a human being as I gorge myself on my partner’s crap, and I guess I have to recognize that I am a disaster. Eating shit’s not normal, but somehow, here I am, sporting an erection as I chew and eagerly swallow Steve’s waste.

I eat as much as I can before I’m full and my stomach is telling me to stop, and then I work my fingers into him, encouraging my blushing companion to keep pushing shit out around them as I finger his prostate.

I didn’t realize Steve’s perfect body had so much delicious filth to give me, and it taints my perception of him. Now, when I look at him, it’ll be hard to not imagine him blushing as he tries to force a thick piece of crap out around my fingers.

He gets to sucking me, soon enough, and I push his hips to grind down and get some friction from the thick logs that he’d put on my chest earlier. It’s messy, it’s desperate, it’s fucking hot, and there’s no way that either of us can last. I finish in his mouth, he finishes on my abdomen, and as we clean up and shower, I can’t help but feel like there’s something missing.

When we settle into bed, with my head on Steve’s bare chest, I finally remember what I want so badly.

I miss the press of a too-familiar HYDRA-issue black boot on my cheek.

Sighing, I fall asleep, and I dream of being brainless.  
-

It starts in 1979, with a young, confident intern by the name of Brock Rumlow. His hair is black and his eyes are a strange color, like honey and dark stone, and he is the youngest handler I’d ever had. I am attracted to him, physically -- mentally, there is nothing in me that was desirous of him. I barely have thoughts, but my body still has a ferocious libido. Until then, HYDRA has just handled it by shocking my prostate until I came, but Brock is the first of my handlers to not report my erection.

My waking self knows it’s the beginning of a plan, the plan to make me feel no attraction to people without a specific trigger. But my dreaming self can’t do anything about it, because this is a memory.

Brock has me undress and sit down, my stiff cock standing without shame between my legs. He checks a sheet, and then he comes over, pulls down his pants, and sits down on me. I am bewildered, but my body betrays nothing as I feel something soft and hot squish around my erection and hear a sound of relief from my handler. When he stands, I look down, and there’s a good-sized pile of shit in my lap. My cock is still hard, so Brock kneels down in front of me to jerk me off with a fistful of his own waste. When I cum, my brain immediately concludes that this is better than the electric shock.

He scrapes the shit off my lap and his hands into a pile on the floor, and as he commands me to lay down, he steps in it, making sure to get his boot real dirty before crushing it against my face and ordering me to lick his new boots clean.

And from my first taste of shit, a love affair with this filth begins.  
-

I startle awake, my half-hard penis pressed up on Steve’s thigh, and I have to resist the urge to wake him right then and there and beg him to make me eat shit from the soles of his boots.

I don’t want to have sexual dreams about Brock Rumlow, but… I save the thoughts of Steve replacing every awful memory with something similar involving him for the morning and try to settle back to sleep. Steve and I would have plenty of time to talk about all this shit then.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm going for a series with steve and bucky engaging in scat-related play. feel free to leave me a suggestion for the next installment in the comments, and consider following me on tumblr at slutbarnes.tumblr.com!
> 
> no, seriously, leave me a comment, just on anon or something, or leave kudos if you like it. or send me an anon ask to my blog. it helps me gauge interest in my material.


End file.
